Gunday's Child
by Skyraptor66
Summary: A rather dark drabble about Clair. Maybe there's another reason she seems so disinterested in marriage.


(Note: This came from quite a bit of grim speculation on my part, as well as the general desire to see more Clair fics that had less to do with her relationship with Nelpher—sapphic or otherwise—and more to do with her actual character. Her distaste for her father's meddling in her love life comes from the fact that he seems to be willing to give her to any shmuck who can gain his approval, of course, but I started wondering if there was something more than just workaholism (and possible romantic feelings for her fellow Blade) that kept her from marriage and made that odd, unexplained gap in her relationship with her father. So, this. If anyone enjoys this and is also of the writerly sort, I'd almost prefer that you write another Clair fic than a review, as she's my oft-neglected favorite character. Call it a humble request.)

"M-day's child is fair of face,

Drill-day's child is full of grace,

Gun-day's child is breastless and blind,

Shell-day's child is out of its mind,

Bomb-day's child will always be dumb,

Cannon-day's child can never quite come,

But the child that's born on Battle-day is bonny and blithe and rotted away."

-Muriel Rukeyser

She remembered telling him she didn't want children, and that's why she refused to marry. His scar-streaked and grizzled face turned downcast as he regarded her with disbelief and sadness. He wanted grandchildren so badly to carry on the family legacy, and a son-in-law to ensure she didn't end up as lonely as him. It was the same emotion she believed allowed him to bring her into the world in spite of the war that would later take her mother from them—desperation. Clair refused to be as weak, and in a lash of angry spite she told him so. They drifted apart soon after that.

She spoke of it to Nel only once. The two women always had that silent understanding between them, not just because they had both lost loved ones, but because they were both born for one other reason: the need for someone to do the killing. Perhaps it would be better if she were present for all the deaths she caused, like Nel who saw every face she set her blade against. There was an element of slight reconciliation with the dead when you could at least say that you'd done the act yourself, with a warrior's honor, rather than dispatched armies of sons and daughters to their deaths, drawing out their march into hell on a polished and banner-flanked desk. Children off to kill children, to pierce their skulls on spears like fish dangling from serrated hooks; dragonfire and lum blood mingling with human gore. The goddess Erinia and her children couldn't ask for a better tribute.

She saw enough in Arias, where the coffins couldn't be built fast enough and only the undertaker could manage a grin. When there was no more room in the chapel, they stored the smaller coffins in the mansion she used as a headquarters in what used to be a nursery. Among those, the largest were the size of a dog, while the smallest were about as big as a womb. Some of the soldiers she sent into war came back in boxes no bigger than the case that held her mother's wedding necklace, their bodies half-eaten by the starving dragons of Vox's brigade.

She remembered looking over the piles of long boxes-stacks upon stacks growing by the day-and hating her father for his persistence, and herself for almost giving into it like her mother did, if only to comfort the old man. She prayed to Apris to give her the strength to fight, but to Irisa she prayed for forgiveness on her father's behalf, for wasting innocence on a world of death, and for the courage to avoid making the same mistake.

At the final battle, most of the soldiers were reduced to ashes by the blasts of the alien ships, so there was no need for coffins. The winds of Irisa swept the dead away to their final resting place, into the underworlds of Folstar, where, if they were good and pious souls, they would have a second chance at purity.

She often wondered if Apris Himself regretted birthing his children for the same reasons she never wanted them.

(Meh, this has a lot of kinks, but this is , so screw it. Hopefully this will kinda-sorta make up for not updating Steppenwolf in a long time.)


End file.
